Unexpecting
by LadySilver
Summary: When Allison needs Scott more than ever, all their friends seem determined to keep them apart. WIP. ABANDONED.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Story is set roughly three months after "Co-Captain," but in an AU where Jackson did not become a werewolf and Allison is somehow still in the dark. Other end-of-season events may or may not have occurred. In this AU, Kate did not succeed in capturing Derek. **

**Comments and criticism appreciated.**

**Unexpecting**

by LadySilver**  
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The bleeding started the morning of the full moon, though Allison wouldn't note the connection. She discovered the smear of blood between her thighs when she woke up. A tentative touch confirmed that the blood was mostly dried, though there was somewhat more of it than she had first noticed. She frowned, furrowed her brow, tested the smear again with a stronger touch. Was this something to worry about? She rubbed hands over her lower abdomen, pushing on the soft pudge that didn't used to be there. Her belly felt squishy, like a thick layer of jelly sat beneath her skin, but no pain resonated. That had to be good, right? She allowed herself a small sigh of relief. The pudge was growing noticeably thicker, though she was still able to dress to conceal it. Soon it would start to take on shape and tricks wouldn't work. For her body type, she knew, that would be sooner rather than later.

Rolling out of bed, she padded down the hall to the bathroom. Though she had gotten a full night's sleep, she felt sluggish, clumsy. She dimly recalled waking in the night, convinced that all the oxygen had been stolen from the room. Opening her bedroom window had helped, but she'd had to sleep all night on her side, face positioned to catch any breeze that snuck in, and now her limbs protested that lack of movement. A shower restored some flexibility, though the hot water made her aware of a dull ache in her lower back. At least the heat and humidity of the shower didn't nauseate her, as it had done for the last couple weeks. She shut off the tap, sighed, leaned against the steam coated white tiles in the shower stall. Water dripped off the ends of her long hair, splashing in tepid drops on her feet. While the symptoms had all been mild—not at all like the dramatic vomiting, exhaustion, or weight gain so often presented in novels—they kept piling up, one right on top of the other. She hadn't taken a pregnancy test—there was no power on earth that would compel her to bring one of those into the house on the fear that her father would find it—she'd never really needed one. But she was starting to get a glimpse of what people meant when they said that one shouldn't go through this alone. Today, she decided, was the day to stop trying.

The one day she _needed_ to talk to him, Scott was elusive. She caught a couple glimpses of him throughout the morning passing periods, but he always seemed to be moving in a different direction than she needed to go. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was avoiding her, especially when he didn't turn up for English. While switching her books for her next class, she automatically checked his locker to see if he was there. He wasn't. Seconds later, a prickling on her neck made her check again. Now she saw Scott lounging with one shoulder against his locker as if he'd been there the whole time. He was staring at her, scoping her in a way that made the prickle crawl down her spine. His eyes were dark, his face drawn into a mask of intensity like she'd never seen on him before. His posture reminded her of a lion on the stalk.

She took a step toward him, his name on her lips, when suddenly an arm dropped across the back of her shoulders and she was being spun away. "Hey," Jackson said. "So, about that French quiz…"

He propelled her down the hall to words she didn't hear. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Stiles similarly leading Scott in the other direction. She frowned. "Jackson," she interrupted, "What's going on?"

"Oh, you know. Full moon," he replied. There was something in his tone, not quite a sneer, a hint of amusement, that made her think that what he had said was supposed to be meaningful. Beads of sweat glistened on his upper lip and his cheeks were flushed.

She pulled away, shifted her books to her other arm. "I need to talk to Scott," she said. "I haven't seen him all day." Because of what she had to say, and because of how dragging she had felt, she had taken extra care getting dressed, going so far as to pin her hair up so that the loose curls framed her face. Scott had complimented the style once, and she needed the extra boost of confidence—which now was starting to feel like an effort that had been wasted.

"And I could really use your help going over some verbs," Jackson replied, speaking faster. "That quiz killed me."

Another glance down the hall showed that Scott and Stiles were long gone, swallowed in the crowd of students all racing to their next class. She sighed, agreed. Then the world twisted on its side. She clutched at Jackson's arm, suddenly glad that it was already there, as her knees buckled. Her vision swam, blackness swept in from the edges.

When it cleared, she found herself sitting on the floor in front of the lockers, Jackson crouched in front of her. He looked concerned, genuinely so, like she hadn't seen since that night they were trapped in the school. She tried to smile, to show him that she was fine, but found that the effort sent a dart of pain through her temple. "Ow," she groaned. The hallway had mostly emptied, though she couldn't remember the bell ringing. How long had she been sitting here? She felt so embarrassed.

Jackson rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, licked his lips. "I think we need to get you to the nurse," he said. He held out his hands, an invitation to help her stand when she was ready.

Though she wasn't sure she had the strength in her arms to reach for those hands, she had to agree.


	2. Chapter 2

The nurse took one look at Allison and ordered her over to the cot where sick kids were supposed to wait while parents were notified, or until the kid realized that he wasn't _that_ sick after all, and maybe he _could_ take the math test. Coarse white sheets covered the cot, a flat foam pillow under them on one end. Allison sank gratefully down onto them. With Jackson's help, she had been able to walk all the way down here, but she'd had to do most of it with her eyes closed in order to keep from falling over. The nurse asked a few questions then disappeared into another room.

"Jackson," she said—her voice caught; she cleared her throat—"Someone needs to get Scott." She knew she was repeating herself, but why wouldn't he listen?

He shook his head, ran a finger over one eyebrow. "I'll stay with you," he replied, once again ignoring her. But the next thing he did was pull out his phone and start tapping, his eyes flicking to the door as if he were afraid of getting caught. His furtive expression reminded her of one she'd seen on her boyfriend's face so often recently.

At the formal there had been a long moment when Allison had been certain that Scott was about to tell her something. Even when he sprang the L word, a part of her whispered that that was the start of the confession, not the end. Then Coach Finstock had descended on them and, with a triumphant grin spread across his face, grabbed Scott by the nose and duck-walked him out the front doors. With the music blaring all around, she couldn't hear what words passed between them, but Scott's color was high and his eyes were wide in panic. She tried to follow, but Finstock threw his arm out in a clear signal for her to stay put.

That was the night.

She'd left the dance as soon as she could and snuck over to Scott's house. He hadn't been home, so she'd taken a seat on the porch, wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders, and waited. When he finally stumbled home around three o'clock in the morning, her arms had long since gone numb and she was losing the fight against the violent shivering in her body. Scott's embrace had been one of relief and desperation, even as she could sense that the door had closed on confessions. He smelled of smoke and ashes, pieces of crushed leaves stuck to his clothes and hair. She didn't ask, and he didn't volunteer. Whatever he'd wanted to say wouldn't be said that night—though he didn't have any problem repeating the L word. And she found it easy to give in to other promises.

Not until later that morning, when she finally made it back home, did she learn about Lydia's attack and Aunt Kate's death. The details in both cases were sparse, and she knew that she wasn't being given the whole story. But, somehow, getting the whole story didn't seem so important any more. She had her own secret.

A couple weeks later, her period didn't arrive. She'd spent a week with crossed fingers, certain that the stresses of the month were just playing havoc on her body. Even though she knew otherwise, she refused to name the reality. On the one hand, the word terrified her. On the other, this really was her secret—at least for the time being. Yes, she was being immature and petty and vindictive to use this as another verse in the "I Know Something You Don't Know" song, but she _liked_ being the secret holder for once. Especially as it became progressively clear that the version of the song everyone else was singing was designed to exclude her voice. It was because of that small, vicious thrill of retribution that she kept the knowledge to herself for so long. By not speaking the label to anyone, she could revel in the small revenge it allowed, instead of having to think about the bigger picture.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered, now. To Jackson. The first time she'd said those words out loud, to anyone, and it was to Jackson. They tasted of a kind of betrayal. She cringed, hugged her shoulders. "Please don't laugh at me."

Jackson's head shot up from his phone, though his fingers tapped a few more keys. He stared at her, his blue eyes bored into her as though he was peeling away the layers of her abdomen to check for himself. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded, the curls bouncing next to face. A new wave of dizziness washed over her and she had to slap a hand down onto the cot to keep upright. She waited for him a crack a joke or offer a tactless comment. Isn't that what was supposed to happen next? Someone would question her morality, her sanity, her ability to think. She listened to the clock tick in the office, the scuffing of Jackson's expensive shoe on the floor, waiting for a response.

Jackson finally managed to pull one together. "Shit," he said. He dropped the word into the silence as if there were no more accurate summary. Then, "Sorry—" he shook his head as if he hadn't meant to swear, slid the phone into his pocket. "I don't know—"

Just then, then nurse reappeared in the doorway. He was a middle-aged man of some east Asian descent with crow's feet deeply etched around eyes that now looked heavy with concern. "I've called an ambulance," he said to Allison, "and left messages for your parents to meet you at the hospital. I'm going to keep trying them."

"Why?" Jackson demanded. "She just needs to rest for a few minutes."

The nurse raised his eyebrows, crossed his arms over his chest. "How about you let me do my job and I don't kick you out?" he asked, tone low but no nonsense. His gaze softened a little when he looked back at Allison. "Is there anything I can get you? A bottle of water? A blanket?" Off her mouthed, "no thanks," he responded, "The ambulance will be here in a few minutes. Don't worry."

Now that he'd said that, the worry dropped on her like a collapsing ceiling. What did he mean by that? What was there to worry about? For a second, the same questions flashed over Jackson's face. Then he reached some kind of decision, turned on his heel, and stormed into the main office after the nurse.


End file.
